


Fish-Blooded

by Carmino (orphan_account)



Category: Deadpool (Comics), Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Alternative Universe - Canon Deviation, Animal Abuse, Bloodplay, Bondage, Dark, Gore, Horror, M/M, Multiple Deaths, Necrophilia, POV First Person, Serial Killer, Torture & Mutilation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-18
Updated: 2014-01-18
Packaged: 2018-01-09 03:58:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1141148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Carmino
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"With the spider's abilities came the spider's bloodlust, and it drove me crazy."</p><p>[Read notes inside]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fish-Blooded

**Author's Note:**

> This is the most disturbing thing I've ever written and I can safely say that I was possessed while doing so.
> 
> First, consider the warnings and tags.
> 
> This fic _is_ AU but it's still set in a Marvel universe; canon has been fucked with from the start, but Peter Parker is still Spider-Man, and Deadpool is still his sociopathic self. There's a deliberate OOC-ness to Peter because of his new psychosis, plus some character role-changes, but otherwise I tried to keep things and events as to canon as possible.
> 
> This isn't a romantic story. If you're looking for love, you've clicked on the wrong link. If you're looking to read about Peter as a serial killer, welcome!
> 
> I am in no way an expert on psychopathy and related issues. I have never taken a professional class. Everything I know, I know from online research.
> 
> Have a safe read!

Uncle Ben found me force-feeding my goldfish when I was ten. Teddy the Goldfish was my first and last pet. He was rather large, about half the size of my palm back then, and I had him on my desk with his stomach carefully sliced open just right as I stuffed sprinkles of fish food into his mouth. I told Uncle Ben that it was for science, which was only partially a lie. He took me aside that day and explained that it wasn't right to cut an animal open for whatever reason. He then held up my bloody hand and asked me what that red stuff was around my mouth. I told him that I was curious as to what fish blood tasted like, that it was for science. I said that the blood was metallic and cold but not that unpleasant. Then I was taken to a hospital for check-up, because who knew what that fish blood contained.

The next day, I asked for another pet goldfish but Aunt May said no. She kissed my head and told me that she loved me, and that my parents, if they were alive, would love me too. I told her that I loved her back, and to not mention my parents, and she began to cry before sending me to my room.

Uncle Ben told me to never do that again. I asked him what, dissecting fishes or making Aunt May cry? He got angry; said “BOTH!” really loudly. I guess he was upset. It upset me that he was upset at me so I promised him I won't do it again.

I think that was the first time since my parents died that Uncle Ben and Aunt May got mad at me. Mostly they left me alone, told themselves that I needed the space to grief, to get over the deaths. But ever since Teddy the Goldfish, they decided to be more “involved” in my life, saying I needed the guidance. And perhaps I did, because if I hadn't I might have never understood that dissecting Teddy was a bad thing to do, because it killed him and you shouldn't kill living things in cold-blood. That was how Uncle Ben put it anyway.

They talked about boys having urges in school. A lot of the kids around my age began having those urges in middle school. My eighth grade health teacher said that it was normal. I asked her if it was normal to have had them for all your life, and she said, with a confused face, that no, most people started having them because they hit puberty and that was when the hormones start. She asked me why I asked. I said “never mind” because I didn't think we were talking about the same kind of urges.

It was around that same time that rumors about me being gay spread around my school. Flash Thompson was the culprit.

I hated Flash. I used to like Flash because we were best friends in fourth and fifth grade before he became this cool kid after elementary school. He left me behind because he thought I was lame. I didn't care for any of it until he somehow became my bully.

It made me angry. It was like he transformed into a completely different person in the course of two years and I was someone that didn't matter to him anymore, moreover, someone he could step on. So right before Christmas break, I set his bike on fire with a bottle of gasoline I stole from Uncle Ben's car. It nearly burn down the school. Flash got into trouble because it was his bike, and _he_ was usually the trouble-maker so of course they suspected him, but I think he knew it was me. No one believed him, but I was bullied harder than ever, and with no way of getting even.

I started dreaming about Flash's death shortly after spring of eighth grade when those encounters got severe.

Most of the dreams just involved his limp, dead body. They weren't very informative, but I soon figured out that I strangled him in them, which was funny because I was a string bean and he was all muscles and height and on the basketball team, so there was no way he would've allowed me to strangle him; he would've beaten me up long before I lay a hand. It would never work.

Instead, I made compromises with my dreams, and began re-imagining their scenarios before I fall asleep. Most of them involved knives that I would stab him with before I'd bury my hands into the wound and let them soak in his blood.

In my imagination and dreams, the blood was cold, like Teddy's. I knew that wasn't right and knowing it frustrated me for a year and a half.

The closest thing to human blood I had was my own, and I certainly didn't want to hurt myself on purpose, so I savored the few precious nosebleeds I'd get until Aunt May caught me and explained that if I let myself bleed I might die.

Those were horrible years.

I couldn't think of anything besides warm blood. I couldn't dream of anything else.

I couldn't sleep at night. I wanted Flash Thompson dead too much, and I wanted to plunge my hands into his organs more than anything in the world. It would be nothing like Teddy's. It would be warm, I thought to myself, it probably tastes better, and since he's human it's not going to poison me like a fish's blood might.

My answer came second semester of sophomore year.

Sophomore year means biology. I took regular biology the first semester, then they switched me to Advanced Placement for the second. It's a class where the teacher let their students to do actual good labs. I got to dissect a worm, then a frog, then the heart of a deer when I got picked as a volunteer. The deer heart was especially exhilarating, knowing that this piece of muscle was once warm and pounding inside a living mammal.

My hands shook so much with excitement that my teacher thought I was going to faint. I nearly stabbed her when she tried to make me stop, but I controlled myself because I knew it wasn't decent.

But the best part about biology was the field trip to Oscorp.

Oscorp. Their scientists pioneers in the field of genetic engineering. Their innovations so advance that they themselves couldn't believe they'd done it, or how they did it, as evident by what happened to me next.

Most of their experiments died off, but I was bitten by one of their radioactive spiders, and I lived to tell the tale. I gained super strength, the ability to climb walls and stick to ceilings, super human agility, stealth, speed – I became a spider in the very essence. It was incredible, amazing. For a moment, _I_ was amazing.

For a moment.

With the spider's abilities came the spider's bloodlust, and it drove me crazy.

I wanted blood.

I wanted Flash Thompson.

I wanted his blood on my hands, and I wanted to soak and bath in its warmth and deliciousness. There was nothing that could stop me, not even Uncle Ben's nagging voice of conscience in the back corner of my mind, reminding me that we should never kill a living thing in cold-blood. The urge was too great, the spider too powerful, the temptation too seductive.

I got to work.

It was easy luring him into one of the abandoned construction sites in Flatbush. This one was being renovated for a mini-mall, but due to a dispute with the city, they halted establishment. Now it was just a tall shell of a building on a plot of land waiting for some investors to snatch up. A couple of hobos had died there earlier in the year. They froze during winter.

Flash was a joke to provoke. All I had to do was humiliate him during gym class earlier that day. Then I challenged him to a fight outside school, gave him the location, and told him that if he brings anyone with him, he's a coward and wussy.

Of course he wasn't stupid enough to come alone. He brought two of his goons, so I waited it out.

They lasted thirty minutes before they decided that I wasn't showing up.

As soon as they separated, I went after Flash. Gagged him. Chloroformed him. Tied him up. Broke his wrists just because and hauled him back to my pick of construction site.

“Hi, Flash.”

I would never forget his face in that moment. Even to this day, it was one of the funniest things I've ever seen, and not many things got me to laugh.

“I'm sorry,” I apologized, giggling behind a clasped hand, “it's just your face! It's hilarious! I kind of want to take a picture of it, almost- In fact- Oh, no wait, I forgot my camera at home. Damn, can't take a picture now.”

“What the hell, Parker?! Let me go!” he screamed.

“Shh shh shhh...” I shushed him. “You're going to get me caught.”

“Yeah, that's the fucking idea, you fucking psycho!”

“If you don't shut up, I'm going to gag you, Thompson!” I told him with a hand around his neck. I squeezed, as a warning. “So shut. The fuck. Up. Capisce?” He choked, made some gagging noises, and I let go.

I could tell that he was scared of me. On one hand, I was happy. On the other, I was annoyed. I prepared the knives.

“What are you going to do to me?” he asked.

“I'm going to kill you,” I answered. “What?” I looked up when he whimpered. “There's no better way to put it. I'm going to slice you open, dissect you. Then I'm going to remove your organs, and wash my hands in your blood. You'll most likely die from that. I'm sorry. It's just the way things are.”

“Please...” he sobbed. He was beginning to shake. “Please don't kill me, Peter, please, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Please don't kill me.”

I chuckled, because that was ridiculous of him to ask of me.

“Oh, buddy, I can't,” I told him, disappointing him. “I dreamt of this moment for so long, it'd seem like a waste to let you go now.”

He whimpered louder, and I wanted him to shut up.

“Stop, you're making this difficult,” I snapped as I gagged him again. He started hyperventilating. “You're getting on my nerves, Flash!” I punched him in the face.

Blood dripped from his nose.

My breath caught in my throat. I gripped his chin and turned his face to me. He stared back with fear, I stared back with a passion so fervent and overwhelming I felt myself crying at the realization that the dreams I'd had for two years were finally coming true. I put my finger to his nose, and smiled. His blood felt just as warm as I never could imagine it to be. It was so perfect. So _perfect._

Flash's sobs were muffled by the gag. I kissed him where his mouth should be. “Thank you,” I whispered.

That night, I cut him open. He was still alive, barely conscious after rounds of beating over the head, but alive, his screaming muffled. I cut off his intestines first. Discarded it carefully. Then the stomach. Then the liver. He died somewhere around that point, but I didn't notice. My hands were already dipped in that wonderful, wonderful pool of red, my elixir. I washed my face with it. I cried.

All of a sudden, I didn't hate Flash anymore. In a strange way, I almost... liked him. He had given me everything I wanted. He had given me something I would probably never have again, I realized. He was a stupid, stupid goldfish, but he had given me... happiness, however fleeting it might have been.

I untied his gag and kissed him, this time for real.

I wrapped everything up and dumped his body into the East River. Having superpowers made certain things easy.

Of course, I kept a vial of his blood, for keepsake.

And that was when the problem started. You see, I had a taste of blood – of the _only_ blood I'd truly desired in my short, short life – and it wasn't enough anymore. I wanted more. I _needed_ more. The spider in my veins sang for it, and I wasn't going to stop myself if it could be this easy. It was just a matter of who my next target should be.

I went to Uncle Ben.

The first thing he did was stare at me hard. My fingers twitched as I felt myself being examined; he was trying to read me. It was unnerving and I didn't like it. I kept my face blank.

“Come again?” he asked.

“I like blood,” I repeated. “A lot. And... I need more.”

“You need more blood,” he echoed, as if that wasn't what I just said.

“Yes.”

He just stared. I wished he would stop.

Then he sat us down, the way he always did when he was trying to give me a talk.

“Peter,” Uncle Ben said my name slowly. “You're an unusual kid, you've always been. You're one of the smartest people I know, but you're quiet and, quite frankly, your Aunt May and I cannot tell what's going through your mind sometimes. Now... You don't have the easiest childhood growing up, Peter. Your parents, they died unfortunately, and that's a great loss that would devastate any child-”

Something in me snapped. “Stop bring up my parents! You do this every time! Nothing of anything has to do with them, _nothing_!” I shouted.

“What I'm trying to say is that you have anger issues, Peter,” he continued. “A lot of pent-up anger that you haven't been letting yourself express for the past six years you've been with us.”

“I don't have anger issues! I need blood! That's what I'm asking help for, not for any anger issues!”

How dared he!

At that moment I hated him. I wished he would just _disappear_! I-

Oh.

I gazed upon my uncle. I pictured Flash's dead, pale face in his place, and all my anger washed away.

“There's a lot of power in you, son,” he said when he saw that I calmed down. “A lot of power.”

“Power,” I parroted.

“Power. That's all that anger is – power in the most destructive form, power that otherwise can be used for greater good,” he preached, a hand gingerly touching my shoulder. “With great power comes great responsibility, Peter.”

“With great power comes great responsibility,” I parroted again, not taking my eyes off his face. “With great power comes great responsibility.” And again.

He beamed, seeing that I was listening to him.

“That's right, son.”

“I need some air,” I breathed, getting away from him and heading out the door.

“Peter, where are you going now?” he called after me. “Peter-” But I was no longer listening.

Those words, meaningless to me as they were at those moments, made me feel like something had struck, had clicked right, inside of me. I shivered. I sucked in air. I smelled Flash's blood. I smelled blood. I closed my eyes and savored this sensation. The memories were so fresh. 

I opened my eyes again.

But must it be Uncle Ben? I found myself asking.

Yes, I found myself answering immediately, yes it must.

Tough thing was, I didn't hate Uncle Ben the way I had hated Flash. Most of the time, he was okay. Sometimes I even liked him, and I wanted him dead for no other reasons than the fact that I got myself fixated on him and him alone, which was a problem, because the more I think about Uncle Ben the more I reminded myself of his teachings. Killing was supposed to be bad. I never understood that. How could it be bad if it felt... good while I do it? But it just was. I supposed it was no different than the fact that Flash had to die, that Uncle Ben had to die. Some things just were, just like me becoming a spider-man.

Spider-man.

When my mind conjured those words, something within me stopped.

Spider-man.

No. Spider- _Man._ Capital 'M'. I wasn't _a_ spider-man, there were no others, I was _the_ Spider-Man.

I was Spider-Man, I didn't know what it was, but it sounded good. Wonderful. Thrilling. Like Superman. Like a hero.

At that moment, I realized that that could be my calling. I wasn't wrong or a mistake. The spider didn't bite me by accident. It was all part of a grand plan. It meant something. _I_ meant something.

I laughed. I felt free. I broke into a run down the streets, jumping and dancing like I'd never before. It was an expression of joy at my revelation.

Somewhere along the way, I lost track of time. Before I knew it, it was dark outside and I was in an unfamiliar part of Queens. Hearing my stomach rumble, I stopped by a convenient store to grab a chocolate milk.

I was five cents short.

“Just let me off,” I told the cashier. “It's only a nickel.”

“No, get out of my shop, kid,” the stubborn bastard said.

I eventually gave up, slammed my milk down, and was about to leave.

The next guy up pulled his gun out and demanded all the money. He was an odd-looking person even for the city - all hats and scarves and gloves and sunglasses and trench coats. There was even a fake nose. The only things visible were the scars around what was left uncover on his upper face. He spoke with a low growl behind his cashmere scarf. He threw me my chocolate milk and I thanked him. I left. He left soon after, running down the street. The cashier screamed for me, for _someone_ , to stop him. I told him that I didn't care. His loss.

Then I heard Uncle Ben's voice, and saw Uncle Ben chasing after the robber, and a gun fire.

I watched him drop dead.

“Uncle Ben!” I screamed.

He was mine! Mine to kill! His blood was seeping on the cement ground and it was all ruined! Ruined because I didn't stop that thief! I was angry. I was very, very angry.

“Peter...” dying Uncle Ben wheezed from the ground, distracting me from trying to pinpoint where the thief had run off to. “Please, listen to me...”

“Uncle Ben?” I said, showing that I was listening.

“Be _good,_ ” he managed to get out. “That's all I want from you. Be responsible. Be good-...”

He died in my arms.

“Uncle Ben?” I shook him. “Uncle Ben!”

I broke my second promise to Uncle Ben that day – I made Aunt May cry. But I didn't tell her that. I just held her, as it was expected of me, as she went hollow as a broken china doll, a shell of her former self.

I described the thief-slash-murderer to the sketch artist to the best of my memory, then asked for a copy.

That thief had took my prey, my _fish_. In doing so, he _became_ my fish, and I _will_ have his blood on my hands.

With a kiss on Aunt May's cheek the next night, the hunt began.

Working in the shadows of the night with a mask, I narrowed the thief down. I looked for men with patch-like, cancerous scars. There weren't many.

Awared that he might very well have faked his scars, I began looking for the ones without. Either way, he was a criminal. My possible targets expanded exponentially. Not long after, it wasn't just my uncle's killer. I was hunting down every day criminals. I was gaining a reputation. So I made my web shooters to go with the spider theme. I modified my 'costume'. Blue-and-red, spandex. It worked.

I called myself Spider-Man. It caught on.

When I was Spider-Man, I felt like a different person. There was something animalistic in the freedom of swinging from building to building, in fighting. While I was Spider-Man, the adrenaline of action could make me forget once in a while.

But when I went back to being Peter Parker, things became much, much harder.

I had unleashed the spider, and it would not come back to its cage. Instead, it had bred, gone wild without my control. I had let it take and wrap me in its inescapable cocoon. I had let it infiltrate the deepest part of me and expose it to myself and the world around.

I soon realized that I must hold back as Spider-Man, so I did, and while my alter ego became a rising new hero of New York City, the good that Uncle Ben had always wanted from me, Peter Parker was left to suppress the bloodlust alone. It was too much for one man to handle. It was pure anguish. I needed a kill and I needed it bad.

One day in February, Harry Osborn, son of Norman Osborn the CEO of Oscorp, transferred to my class.

He was fresh-faced, with ashy-brown tussle hair. I befriended him immediately, and he'd taken a liken to me.

It turned out that he was a certified genius, just recently coming from a top-notch private academy to be closer to his father's company. He spoke highly of his father, and personally took interest in cross-species genetics to prove himself to Norman Osborn.

“Species-crossing in general seems to be a growing trend lately,” I remarked.

“Like Spider-Man,” he blurted out. “And those bad guys with the snake obsession, the Serpent Society.”

I did my best to be patient. I let Harry off for a month – he seemed eager to make friends with as many people as possible, that was fine by me – before I made my move. But it was a difficult job. As the only son of one of the wealthiest men in the country, he was constantly accompanied by guards and surveillances. I learned the guarding schedule, memorized the rotations, found out where the cameras and the blind spots were. I weaved my web, thread by thread, and waited for Harry to stumble in.

And then I got him.

Same construction site, still abandoned. Every reminder of Flash there sent shivers down my spine.

“You're Spider-Man, aren't you?” was the first thing Harry said. It took me aback.

“How did you know?”

He squirmed against the ropes. “You're always late to class, especially on the days when there's criminal activities in the morning. The other day, I saw a bruise on your arm, but the next day it was gone, which means you heal fast. And ever since I got here, you've been watching me nonstop. Either you have huge crush me, or you're weary of the fact that I'm Norman Osborn's son.”

“I'm confused.” I was confused. Why would either of those be a possibility? “Explain.”

Harry hesitated. I could see him doubting himself.

“Spider-Man came from Oscorp,” he finally said firmly. “His powers are born of Oscorp-tech!”

“And you think Spider-Man is me,” I concluded.

“We went through the surveillance tapes, Parker. You went into the spiders lab. You were bitten, weren't you? You shouldn't have lived!”

“That's pretty harsh coming from you,” I said, shrugging. “I thought we were friends.”

That was a lie. Harry wasn't really my friend. Friends. It's a... superficial word. Not without meaning, but not with much value either.

Whatever he said after, I blocked out. I lay him down and did to him what I did to Flash. His skin was softer, so I took time to admire it. I didn't cut him open straightaway, I first let him bleed through a thin cut, which I licked off his abdomen. The choking cries and moans of pain he made sent my groin stirring. He tried to scream, but it was no good. I lapped the blood off him, teasing myself until I could take it no longer.

For the first time in almost a year, I was getting what I wanted. More amazingly, for the first time in my life, I was truly aroused.

I guess Flash was right about me.

It was violent, but it was a necessary violence. Harry lost consciousness half way through it. When I was done, he was surely dead.

It made his blood all the warmer, all the sweeter.

I mourned for him; I held his corpse against me for the remainder of the night. Then I disposed of it readily. Kept a vial of his blood, like I did Flash.

After Harry, I felt happier and lighter as Peter Parker, because I finally figured it out. Surely, this was the answer for what I was made of and what Uncle Ben wanted of me. Peter Parker was free to take lives so as long as Spider-Man saved lives. I was proud of myself. I had struck a balance, and all was well in my universe,

After Harry, it became a routine happening every other months, sometimes three or four, if my patience allowed it. It was the best way of life I could imagine. Even Aunt May would smile at me once in a while, and she rarely did after Uncle Ben passed away. That, I was sure, was a very good thing.

I didn't know until later just how much of a mistake I'd made to pick Harry as my fish.

In my euphoria, I didn't notice something lurking in the shadows. Didn't even notice until it danced in front of me shaking maracas wearing a pink tutu. I had been watched.

His name was Deadpool, he said, a mercenary that Norman Osborn had hired to kill Harry Osborn's killer and Spider-Man.

When Deadpool told me so one night as I was being Spider-Man, I thought it was the funniest thing I had ever heard. He said that he was sorry he had to kill “Spidey”, as he so elegantly put it, because I “had like my favorite superhero ass, second only to Captain 'Murrica! And hey, can we at least fuck once before you die, baby boy?”

He was a madman, to put it straight. I decided that he was insane and a danger to me.

I wanted him dead.

I tried to do it the vigilante's way, but apparently the mercenary known as Deadpool wasn't an NYPD-level priority. He, the police told me as they tried to chase me down for arrest, was a problem of S.H.I.E.L.D. and the Avengers. The police department were only humans.

Which really offended me, considering that Spider-Man was a superhuman.

Deadpool eluded Spider-Man at every turn. At the same time, Peter Parker eluded Deadpool as Harry's killer.

Like I said, the guy was crazy. He started looking for the Harry's killer in the most wrong possible places – the bars, the ghettos. He started up random shooting sprees, blew up random buildings, pissed off random gang leaders, until after months of tailing him I realized that he was actually playing a very whimsical game.

I also envied his insane luck; I had expected him to die no less than ten times per week for the first two months.

“Are you in love with me, Spidey? I see you stalking me!” he cajoled me all sing-songly one night with a bouquet of roses that I was sure he'd stolen. “Tell me you are and I won't kill you. I'll just fake-kill you for the money! We can run off to the Caribbeans together, adopt some Asian babies! Huh? What do you say?”

I unceremoniously pushed him off the building out of anger. He miraculously survived.

“How do you do that?” I questioned.

“Just the luck of Your Friendly Neighborhood Deadpool,” he said with an arm around my shoulder. 'What? You jelly?”

“Stop stealing my slogan, you moron,” I snapped.

“Aww, lighten up! The name's Wade B-T-W. Wade Wilson,” he said. “But you can call me-”

“Good _bye_ ,” I interrupted before he could nauseate me further.

This has never happened before, not even with Flash, but for the first time in my life, I actually wanted to make someone suffer for the sole purpose of making them suffer. Wade Wilson smelled foul, which made his blood disgusting to my imagination. He got under my skin. He revolted me and I was determined to make him pay for it. The only problem was how.

As nonsensical as he was, Deadpool was smart. He could also evenly match Spider-Man in a fight, _easily_. If he were to get away, it would mean trouble because it would mean my certain death and I could not allow that. Nothing was looking in my favor, save one, if I played my cards right. He would be my biggest fish yet.

The next time we met up, it was in a dark alleyway. My spidey sense let me dodge his sword just as it swung for my head.

“Stop, stop!” I yelled. “Wait, Dead- Wade! Wade, stop!”

His katana jabbed at my head, missed, and went into the bricks of the building.

“Can we talk, please?” I pleaded.

“Five seconds, Heartbreaker!” he barked.

Didn't need that.

“Listen-”

“Listening!”

“I was-”

“Four!”

“-thinking about what you said before-”

“Three!”

“-and I was wondering if you would like-”

“Two!”

“-to have dinner?”

“One- Come again?”

“Would you like to have dinner with me?” I repeated. “I've... been giving you some thoughts.”

I could see his face splitting into a grin beneath his red-and-black mask.

“Are you asking me on a date, Spidey?” he teased, amused. I couldn't tell if I'd convinced him.

“Yes...”

“I knew it! You _are_ in love with me! Haha, I've watched enough dramas to know how this will go!” he crowed.

I began having an inkling that I might've been played. The mere thought boiled my blood. My hands balled into fists, and I punched him face-first before thinking.

“Don't screw around with me!” I snarled, grabbing him by the collar, prepared to do it again. “If you don't actually like me, don't pretend that you do to fuck with my head! I don't like it when people do that, understood?!”

“Oh, baby, I would never,” he cooed.

I relaxed. “You... mean it?”

“Of course! You're the love of my life!” he declared, wrapping his arms around my body. “You love me too, right? No matter what?”

“Of course.”

“Good, because I have something to show you first.”

He took off his mask.

It was the most hideous sight I had ever laid eyes on. It took everything I had not to pull away. His hopeful expression faltered, sensing my repulsion, but a second was all I needed.

Something was familiar about this face. And these scars. I touched them with fascination, and heard his breath hitch in surprise.

“Yes...” I whispered inadvertently to myself, gazing at them.

“Yes, you love me?” Deadpool asked stupidly.

This was it. An old anger, an old desire inside me reignited in recognition. This was the man who'd killed Uncle Ben, the thief whom I'd spent the last three years hunting. I swallowed, the triumph and beauty of the thought overtook me and stirred the heat in my nether region. I seized his face, lifted my mask up just above my nose tip and slammed him against the wall with a kiss.

My fish. Mine. _Mine._

My erection bulged as it pressed against his growing crotch. I let my arousal take over at this new knowledge – that my prey was finally, finally in my reach. And I will have him. And I will bathe in his blood.

“What kind of sex pollen is this?” Deadpool gasped as I ground up against him and moaned into his ear. “No dinner? Movie? Aren't we – _hell –_ moving a little too faa _aahh._ Oooh, that's good, that's – _fuck, Spidey_ , that's it...”

We rutted against each other like animals until we came, panting in the aftermath of our orgasms.

Leaning against him, I gave him the address of the abandoned construction site, and told him to be there tomorrow night.

The following day couldn't pass fast enough.

All morning and all afternoon, I sat through classes, went to work with anticipation in my stomach like jumping beans. My heart raced wildly. People told me that I was smiling, and that they were shocked. They asked if I finally found a girlfriend. I replied yes, because this was probably my equivalent of that.

This kill was special, because this would be the first time I went as Spider-Man. All other times, I kept Spider-Man and Peter Parker well-separated, but since this was Uncle Ben's killer, I thought it warranted a little novelty.

Deadpool showed up fifteen minutes late with Starbucks.

“Spidey baby, I bought you donuts~!” he sang happily while I did my best to hold in my rage. “So what are we doing in a construction site, hm? Odd place for a first date.”

“It's private,” I answered. “Nobody's here.”

I took the coffee out of his hand and set the donuts aside. Unbeknownst to him, I administered a small dosage of sedative into his body.

“Did you just pinch me?” he squeaked.

I didn't answer, only pushed him down onto the ground, pulling off his mask. My erection was evidently straining against my spandex as I lifted my own mask to my nose and kissed him greedily. He kissed back in eagerness, and I pinned down his wrists above his head.

I fetched a knife with my web shooter, and cut off his uniform, 'carelessly' cutting into his chest, not breaking eye contact. He screamed in pain and surprise, and I webbed him shut. I webbed his wrists in place, his arms, his thighs, until I had him eagle-spread in front of me.

Then I took my mask off, and ripped off of him his pants. He was in commando. I snorted.

“Mmmph?!” He lifted his head and gave me a weird-out stare.

I smiled back.

“Mmmph!”

“Yes, I killed Harry Osborn,” I told him. I traced the outline of his abs with the knife.

“Mmmmph!” He rolled his eyes, not at all afraid. Then he whimpered like a kicked puppy.

I dug the knife down and watched, entranced, as blood oozed from the wound. I moaned, squeezed the bundle between my legs, and leaned down to drink. It was disgusting. I swallowed it all. Then I dug my hands between the skin and pried it apart. He howled like a wretched wolf.

Fascinating thing was, Wade Wilson was still hard, _raging_ hard. And I knew he was watching me. And knowing that he somehow _liked_ it only spurred me on. I stabbed the knife into his abdomen, carved apart his intestines. He screamed. I stared with eyes clouded with lust.

“Did you know,” I began as I lifted his legs, tearing webs along the way, and trailed my bloodied fingers along his scarred thigh until I reached his hole. “We met years ago? Three years ago, in fact?”

“Mm? Mmm?” he asked.

“You gave me a free chocolate milk, and then killed my uncle,” I reminded him.

He looked like he was thinking about it hard. “Mmmm!” He finally nodded. I slipped a finger inside him only to find that it was already lubricated and thoroughly prepared. I was confused.

Deadpool laughed at me through the muffling web and wiggled his ass teasingly.

“Shut up!” I took the knife from his abdomen and stabbed his inner thigh. “Shut the fuck up, or I'll kill you now!”

He flinched and whimpered.

“That's better,” I said, leaving the knife where it was. I stroke my cock back to its fullness. “See? All you had to do – _ah_ – was be normal. That's not so hard, is it?” I closed my eyes and eased my way into him. He breathed a deep lungful of air and sighed it back out as a needy, fearful whimper. He watched me.

“Wade...” I gasped, pulling out and thrusting back in shallowly. He moaned in response to his name. I began picking up speed, going harder and harder in and out. He was slick and tight around me and I loved it. His sweat produced a stink of rotting flesh, his torn inner organs were a mess, and he was crying out shamelessly every time my hip hit the blade dug in his thigh, redeemed only by the webs I put on his mouth. And _oh god_ the blood... I moaned at the blood running down the patterns of his scars. “ _Fuck_ , you're the best, filthiest thi-” I slammed into him erratically, cutting myself off.

“Mmm! _Hghmm_!” he answered, head thrown back.

He was near, I could tell. His eyes were rolled back when he turned to look at me. His face was flushed red, and he was beginning to clench around-

 _Fuck! Now! Now!_ So I wrenched the knife out of his thigh and stabbed him in the heart.

I watched, fascinated as he began to come and convulse all at once - his orgasm overwhelming him, his heart sending him into cardio arrest. I could see the pain and pleasure overloading his brain simultaneously and it was the most beautiful thing I'd ever witnessed in my life. I was in pure ecstasy as I pounded ruthlessly into him, emptied myself in complete satisfaction, and pulled out, agonizingly slow.

I pulled up my pants. Checked for his pulse. There was none. It was done.

I put his mask over his head. Started to clean him up, just as always. By midnight, he would be at the bottom of the East River like all his predecessors, and I would move on with my duality life.

In my daze, I began humming under my breath.

And then I heard the click of a gun behind me.

“That was  _so_ cold-hearted of you,” Wade Wilson said. “I thought you loved me."

What?

"Peter Parker, right? How many?”

I slowly turned around, just in time to see his chest wound sealing up. “Twelve. You're the thirteenth.”

“God, you'll make your uncle proud!”

“How-”

“I have a healing factor, duh! One that puts Wolverine to shame, in fact!” he chirped. “Tough on you for not doing your research. The least you would've known to do was made sure to hurt me enough to buy you the time to dump me into a river. Cardio arrest? Mmm... Usually only takes about thirty seconds.”

I didn't say anything because I couldn't think of anything to say. I only stood there, immobilized in my disbelief. How idiotic of me.

How _stupid_ of me. I muttered a string of curses. I started trembling.

“Don't look for an escape, don't bother, there's no way out. I've rigged this whole place with explosives this morning,” Deadpool said. “On my word, the whole infrastructure collapses. Difference? I get out of here alive, you don't. Now put your hands up where I can see 'em, Spideyminx!”

I did what I was told-

Two bullets came for my wrists and shattered the web shooters.

“There we go!”

I was stunned. He bested me. I couldn't believed it. What should I do now? What _could_ I do now?

"I've got an aunt. Aunt May. She's all alone," I tried to reason with him.

"Oh, I know _all_ about that, baby boy," he said. "I know you, I know exactly who you are and what you are. And I know that people like you don't really care."

I opened my mouth but nothing came out. It finally dawned on me - I was the fish. The table had turned and I was the _fucking fish_!

“Ah, and the final touch-” Deadpool pointed the barrel at my forehead.

No... No.

“No, please! I don't want to die! Please don't kill me! I'm sorry! I'm so sor-”

_BANG!_

Fin


End file.
